Brothers: Not by Blood, But by Bond
by Mcbnotredame7
Summary: Watson remembers his first meeting with Sherlock Holmes, and their many escapdes together from their school days to who knows when...


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. He belongs to some guy named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who's probably like 200 years old now.**

**AN: So, I have recently consumed myself in the world of Sherlock Holmes. I saw the movie preview in July, I knew I had to see it! I have read the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and seen the movie, and plan to read the rest of the books when I get the chance. I know that this isn't canon but this is fanfic right? Anyway, enjoy! **

When I first had the pleasure to meet Sherlock Holmes I was only a boy at boarding school. I knew then that he was intelligent, but I had no idea just how intelligent he really was. We were, and still are, completely different. I was your average student, I wanted to learn and I kept my grades up. I was never the type to get into trouble, always stayed out of fights and the troublesome kids.

Then I met Sherlock Holmes. We were roommates at school, not by choice however. When I first met him I thought of him poorly because of his grades and his enthusiasm for mischief. Little did I know, he was the most brilliant man I would ever meet. He recieved poor grades only because he was too bored in class; his logical way of thinking was not very widely excepted throughout school. In chemistry though, he did excell, usually trying to conduct his experiments on me, though he had to resort to the younger boys at school because by that time I knew him too well to except anything he offered.

In our third year at school, we were thirteen at the time, was when I was first involved in a case with him. The dean's prized golden walking stick had been stolen and Holmes was determined to find it. With very little evidence he had already determined where it was located and who had stole it. It was the dean's own son I remember, a seventh year student at the time, who had stole the walking stick and planned to sell it for money for cocaine.

Holmes and I had snuck into the dean's office while he was out to lunch. I was scared out of my wits, as this was something I would never think of doing, but Holmes insisted that he needed me there and I couldn't refuse, a trait I wish now I never had. As we arrived in the office Holmes immediately began searching, for something, anything. I glanced around briefly but could already deduce that there was nothing of which could help us determine who had done it. Holmes certainly did not agree with me however, as he explained all the minute details which I had failed to notice.

"Look at his coat closet," he said. "It is much to warm to be wearing a coat at this time of the year, so why would it be open. And see these mud tracks, we haven't any rain since Sunday, and the dean was gone then, to not return until Wednesday. So why would somebody be in there? I know and you know, and anyone else that is even somewhat observent would know that the dean keeps his walking stick in the same barrel as his two umbrellas by the door."

"Yes," I said, "but not many people have been in his office as much as you and I. And your conclusion still doesn't explain why there are mud tracks leading to the coat closet. If it really was his son that stole--"

"It was his son Watson, but please continue."

"Since it was his son, then obviously he would have visted his father's office many times, therefore seeing where the walking stick was and not have to go and look in his coat closet."

"Good observation," said he, "but you have failed to understand that he went to the coat closet purposely, so as not to be suspected for the crime. As you so clearly stated, the dean's son would have been to this office many times, hence seeing the walking stick many of times as well. Because there are very few people that would have visted his office enough times to know where the walking stick kept, he purposely walked over to the coat closet to give us a false trail, and to never suspect it was him."

"I understand your reasoning," said I, "but I still fail to understand that you know it was the dean's son. After all, the information we just concluded could make either of us suspects for the crime."

"Yes my dear Watson, but I made another observation that you have failed to make. As we were walking to lunch Sunday afternoon I saw the dean's son entering the dining hall. His shoes were clean and free of mud, and I know that you must cross through the grass once to get from the seventh year dormitory's to the dining hall. Hence, the mud tracks in this office, from his son's shoes, and his shoes being clean as he entered the dining hall. As you can see Watson, the only possible culprit was he dean's son and we should now go eat lunch before it is too late, and on our way back inform the dean of his son's actions."

We did tell the dean that his son had stolen the walking stick, and he was eventually caught. He confessed of what he had done and returned the walking stick to his father. I have no recelection of what his punishment was, but I'm postive he got what he deserved.

* * *

The rest of our school years went about the same. Every time there was something amiss Holmes dragged me into helping him and by the time we graduated we had been to the dean's office far to many times to count, and we were known fairly well as the school's own personal police.

After graduation I had no doubt in my mind that I was never going to see Holmes again.I was going off in the military to serve in the Afghanistan war, and he was going to find a place in London and maybe join the police force. We said goodbye to each other, relishing our friendship and agreed to try to stay in touch. Though I was going to be in the military I told him I might never come back, but I wished him the best.

Once again we said our farewells and went our seperate ways. It was hard for me to lose such a dear friend but I had a feeling in my gut that we would meet once more. I had no idea when, how, or why but I knew I would see Sherlock Holmes again, even if it was the last thing I did.

**AN: I really hoped you liked this. It is my first Sherlock Holmes fic, and first fanfic that's not HP, so please be gentle. Reviews would be awesome! Thanks...**


End file.
